you tingle all over
and at the same time have a queer die-away feeling too, like when you
swoop down in a swing!"

Mrs. Ware took down the almanac hanging in the chimney corner, and began
to turn the pages, looking for the one marked December.

"Oh, you needn't count the days till Christmas," said Mary. "I've been
marking them off my calendar every morning and can tell you to a dot.
Not that I had expected to take much interest in celebrating this year,
but just from force of habit, I suppose. But now we'll have to 'put the
big pot in the little one,' as they say back in Kentucky, in honor of
our being all together once more."

"All but Holland," corrected Mrs. Ware sadly, with the wistful look
which always came into her eyes whenever his name was mentioned. "That's
the worst of giving up a boy to the Navy. One has to give him up so
completely."

There was such a note of longing in her voice that Jack hastened to say,
"But the worst of it is nearly over now, little mother. He'll be home on
his first furlough next summer."

"Yes, but the years will have made a man of him," answered Mrs. Ware.
"He'll not be the same boy that left us, and he'll be here such a short
time that we'll hardly have time to make his acquaintance."

"Oh, but think of when he gets to be a high and mighty Admiral,"
exclaimed Mary, comfortingly. "You'll be so proud of him you'll forget
all about the separation. Between him and the Governor I don't know what
will happen to your pride. It will be so inflated."

Mary had laughingly called Jack the Governor ever since Mrs. Ware's
complacent remark that day on the train, that it would not surprise her
to have such an honor come to her oldest son some day.

"And Joyce, don't forget _her_," put in Norman, feeling in his pocket
for a handful of nuts which he had carried away from the birthday feast.
"The way she's started out she'll have a place in your hall of fame,
too. And me--don't forget _this_ Abou Ben Adhem. Probably my name'll
lead all the rest. Where do _you_ expect to come in, Mary? What will
_you_ do?"

As he spoke he placed a row of pecans under the rocker of his chair, and
bore down on them until the shells cracked. When he had picked out a
handful of kernels, he popped them into his mouth all at once.

"We'll write your name as the Great American Cormorant," laughed Mary,
ignoring his question about herself. "You remember that verse, don't
you?

"'C, my dear, is the Cormor